Crossing of Lines
by kitty maire
Summary: What can make a man go against his natural desire to be non-violent? Neal's resolve is tested when he is abducted.  At what point does Neal cross that line, and can Peter help him recovery from the actions he takes? Spoilers I'm sure...
1. Chapter 1

Hello all, welcome to my first White Collar fanfic. I have several chapters written, and hope to update often. Please read and enjoy!

As always, the wonderful characters inspire my work, but alas, they are not mine.

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Peter Burke was somewhere beyond exhausted. Neal Caffrey, felon turned consultant, had been missing for the fourth day now, and they had run out of suspects. At least no one was doubting that he had been taken against his wishes, not with the surveillance tape showing him being knocked unconscious and thrown into the back of a completely unassuming black Lincoln. Oh no, there were no doubts, and unfortunately, no answers either, as to how this had went so wrong.

At Hughes insistence, Peter had been dropped off at his house to get some rest. Although he wouldn't admit it, he needed a moment to just breath...and to let the well used mask of stoic Federal Agent drop for just a moment. He could do that with Elizabeth-her warm embrace giving him the support he needed. He could see the concern mixing with fear in her blue eyes. She had been with Peter long enough to know this was probably not going to end well for their friend.

Staring at his reflection in the upstairs bathroom, Peter slowly shook his head, a small smile crossing his lips as he thought of that word, _friend_. At some point, Neal Caffrey the con man, art thief, forger, and whatever other questionable activity he had committed, had become his friend. It wasn't an easy relationship, but then again what relationship worth having was.

He heard his wife call up from downstairs, and although he didn't hear all of the question, the word coffee was in there, so he yelled down a confirmation. He should grab something to eat as well, but his appetite had disappeared with Neal.

The doorbell rang then, and he heard Elizabeth going to answer it. Peter glanced at his watch, noticing that Jones was a few minutes early. They were all anxious to get their consultant back, and Peter had to admire his fellow agents dedication.

Peter was throwing his suit jacket back on as he headed towards the stairs when he heard Elizabeth gasp. Instinct had him reaching for his service weapon as he ran the rest of the hallway to the stairs. His wife yelled out his name, urgent and pleading, coming into his view as he reached the end of the hallway.

"Oh my God...Neal..." Peter gasped, shock holding him in place.

Bright blue eyes glanced up in his direction, a look of satisfaction on his face. "Hey Peter..." He whispered. "I think I'm going to pass out now-"

Elizabeth reached out to steady the younger man as Peter ran down the stairs, arriving just in time to catch Neal as he did, true to his word, loose consciousness.

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Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. Please leave a review either way to let me know what you think!

~km


	2. Chapter 2

Agents Clinton Jones and Diana Barrigan arrived at the same time the ambulance did, both made aware of Neal's return by the quickest of phone calls from Peter. Neal lay where he had collapsed, Elizabeth kneeling next to him, his head in her lap. Her left hand gently brushed his dark hair off his forehead, her right resting on his neck, feeling his pulse. It was weak, but it was there, which she was willing to take at the moment.. She wanted to do more, but there wasn't a place she could see that didn't seem to be injured or bleeding.

The paramedics were quick and efficient, barking out questions no one had answers to. No, we don't know how he got his injuries- No, we don't know why he's unconscious (perhaps due to his injuries, Peter's sarcasm supplied helpfully, earning him a glare from not only the two paramedics but also from his wife)

Neal was stabilized as much as possible, then transported with escort from Jones and Diana, to the nearest hospital. Peter and Elizabeth followed after them, her quiet tears being reassured by Peter's grip on her hand.

When they arrived Neal had already been rushed into the Emergency Room, and there was no leeway about anyone accompanying him. They needed the space to work on him without tripping over onlookers. Peter didn't voice it, but he also knew that they were concerned about Neal's chances, and they didn't want an audience in case things went south.

"Boss?" Diana's voice interrupted his thoughts, standing next to him as he filled out paperwork. "The NYPD found that black Lincoln that Neal was taken in. It was half a block away from your house, and it had been hot wired."

They both smiled at this, knowing full well that this was how Neal had gotten away. "Well I guess we will have to add grand theft auto to his list of misdeeds..."

She nodded, looking around to see who was near before she spoke next. "Ummm...he didn't look good, did he...I mean, I think he was...shot...and"

Peter put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about him...the kid is strong, and he's in good hands."

She glanced sideways, getting her game face back. "Yeah, yeah your right. Neal Caffrey always calls the shots, and this is so not his style. Jones and I will head back to your house to coordinate the investigation."

Peter nodded. "Do me a favor when you get there. Make it a priority to get the GPS history off that Lincoln. It's gotta have something to show where it has been."

"And that will show us where Neal has been... I'm on it." She walked over to Jones, and with a nod of acknowledgment they headed out.

Peter walked over to his wife, leaning against the wall across from the doors Neal was pushed through.

He leaned against the wall as well, slouching slightly so their shoulders touched. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

Elizabeth shook her head slightly, new tears escaping her eyes. "God, Peter...what the hell happened to him?"

"I don't know, Elle . But we will find out who did this to him." He replied, determination keeping his voice steady.

She snaked her arm around his waist, drawing him closer to her. Looking for anything to distract, her eyes found the clipboard Peter was holding. "What's that?"

He raised his hand, surprised for a moment that he was holding anything at all. "This? The admission forms...there are a lot of blanks..."

"Really?" She said, amusement in her tone. "What could you possibly not know about Neal Caffrey. You knew what shampoo he used when he was on the run..."

Peter laughed at her comment. "I know...but there are some questions as to his...early years. Like, I think he's younger than he claims..."

"But I thought you had his high-school transcript..." she trailed off.

Peter raised his eyebrows, thinking about Neal's resent admission of not graduating high-school, which contradicted what his file said.

"Forged, huh?" Realization dawning on her.

A voice called out from across the waiting area, interrupting their moment of distracting conversation. A doctor in blue scrubs came from the nurses station, glancing at a medical chart as she walked toward them, the Burkes standing in unison.

"Okay, here's the deal Agent Burke..." She started, still not looked up at them. "Your partner is being prepared for surgery as we speak."

Elizabeth sudden intake of air brought the doctor's eyes away from her notes, finally noticing who she was speaking to. "I'm sorry, umm...he is...there were a lot of extensive injuries..." she stated carefully, meaning in her look to Peter. "Perhaps we should talk about this in a more private setting?"

Peter glanced at his wife, understanding the doctor's meaning. This conversation was meant for non-civilians. Apparently Elizabeth caught the meaning to, because she tightened the grip she had on her husbands arm.

Peter nodded to the doctor to continue. "Well okay...right..." She glanced at the chart again, getting her baring. "Like I said, extensive injuries...there is a gunshot wound to the abdomen, which is why he's going into surgery. He has several broken ribs, a broken left wrist, burns, cuts, and the evidence of an extensive beating. We don't know the full extent of his injuries at this time, but its not good. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say he had been-"

Peter cleared his throat, now wishing his wife was not hearing this. He could feel her trembling next to him as she spoke before the other two could. "He was tortured?" She whispered, horror in her question.

The doctor nodded, seeming to truly look at them for the first time. "It appears so. But please know that we will do all that we can to make him comfortable and fix the damages." She glanced back at the nurses station, then back to the Burkes. "He should be out of surgery in a few hours, then to recovery. As long as we have no complications you will be able to see him them."

The Burkes nodded their thanks as the doctor headed back to attend to Neal. Peter took his cell out and was calling Jones as he lead his wife over to the waiting room chairs.

"Jones, as soon as you get to my house, drop Diana off and get back to the hospital. I want someone to be here with Neal...yeah, protection detail, and you I trust...see you soon." Peter said, ending the call.

Elizabeth looked up at her husband, waiting for his explanation. "I need to be out there Elle...I need to find the bastards that did this..." His right hand pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is my fault...I need to fix this..."

She stood up, wrapping her arms around his waist. "This Peter, is not your fault. You will catch them." There was no room for argument in her statement. "What if Neal wakes up?"

"Call me if he does...stay with him. He will need someone he trust when he wake up in here..." he said, smiling softly, waving his arm to indicate the hospital in general. "This goes against everything him and Mozzie-"

Mozzie. He needed to call the little guy. How was he going to do this?

Elizabeth pulled out her own cell, knowing she was strangely better at this than he was. "I'll call Mozzie..." she looked past him towards the hospital entrance. "...besides, Jones is here..."

Peter took her in his arms for a brief hug, grounding himself in her embrace. "I love you...thank you..."

"I love you too...please be careful." She replied softly, worry in her eyes.

"I will." he glanced over to Jones standing a few discrete feet away. "You watch out for both of them, okay?"

Jones nodded, handing over the keys to the Ford. "Will do Peter."

Peter headed to the car, the hope of finally figuring out what had happened to his friend quickening his step. He just hoped that he would still be investigating an abduction and not a murder in the morning.

* * *

I hope this makes you wonder what exactly did happen to our favorite reformed con artist. I am new to writing these characters, so I hope I am getting it correct. Please feel free to drop me a review to tell me if I am close or way off base. As always, thanks for reading...

~km


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for the great reviews. I hope you enjoy the latest chapter. I should have another posted soon (maybe even this evening?)

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Peter was barely out of the parking lot before the phone call from Hughes showed on his caller ID. He should have contacted his boss as soon as Neal was found, but it had not even occurred to him to do so.

"Peter, why do I have to hear from the Probie at the coffee maker that Caffrey has been found?" Hughes asked by way of greeting. Peter could tell he was annoyed, but there was relief there as well. Neil had grown on almost everyone in the office, and Hughes had allowed Peter to use every resource they had, and borrowed some they didn't, in the search for the consultant.

"Sir, I'm sorry...there was a lot to deal with. That won't happen again." Peter apologized. Peter had worked with the older man for a few years now, and although he considered Reese a friend, there was a protocol in place that Peter had neglected: Never let your boss be the last to find out anything.

Peter could hear Hughes sigh on the other end of the line. "Yeah, I was updated by...whats his name, Scott? Well, anyway, how's Caffrey doing? Do we know what happened?"

"No sir, we don't know what exactly happened to him yet, but I will keep you posted." Peter answered, avoiding the question of Neal's current status.

"Peter...you know I should be removing your team from this case..."

Dammit, Peter thought, hoping Hughes wouldn't go there. "Sir, you can't do that-"

"Can't?" Hughes asked, interrupting Peter's protest.

Peter flinched at the reprimand. "Come on Reese, you know that's not what I meant..."

"Peter, your team will stay on this case as long as I think you all can keep a clear head. I expect frequent updates."

"Yes sir, will do." Peter replied, the relief evident in his tone. The call disconnected, Peter breathed a sigh of relief. He knew there was no way he would have backed down from this investigation, and he was fairly certain the rest of his team would have felt the same way.

He was soon back at his house, most of the block swarming with NYPD and FBI agents. Once a gunshot wound was determined, his house was a crime scene until it was ruled out that it had not happened there-standard operating procedure. Peter didn't need to go to his house though-he had already seen the bloody hand-print on the door as Neal had waited for Elizabeth to answer. No, his interest was the car that Neal had fled his captors in.

Diana was standing next to the black Lincoln, arms crossed across her chest as the information from the car's GPS was being retrieved. She looked tired, Peter thought absently, but as he approached, her eyes brightened.

"Peter, you were right. We reviewed the last four days. It was at the museum the night Neal was taken, then spent most of the next three days at a warehouse down by the Hudson."

"Okay, then that's where we go next. We will need a unit to go-"

Diana smiled, interrupting her boss. "Already set up. They are waiting for us to arrive before they enter the building. There doesn't seem to be any activity, but they will go in if it seems like anyone is looking to leave."

Peter thought, not for the first time, that he was happy he had convinced her to come back to New York. "That's good work Diana..." Peter's words trailed off as he finally glanced at the interior of the Lincoln. There was a lot of blood pooled on the black leather.

Diana followed his gaze, shaking her head. "They said it was a miracle he managed to hot wire, much less drive this over here..."

Peter smiled, recalling memories of conversations with Neal about how Peter likes his miracles...he decided this may be the one that changed his mind.

* * *

They pulled up to the SWAT teams mobile operations unit about 20 minutes later. Peter was slightly annoyed that Neal had been so close this whole time. For such a relatively small area there were too many hiding places. Peter glanced around, realizing that it was just a short distance to the hanger where Kate had died. He wondered if Neal had noticed this as well.

The officer in charge was briefing his team as the two agents got into their Kevlar vest. Surrounded by SWAT members in full invasion mode, helmets and all, Diana felt little safety in her standard FBI issued vest. But the team would go in first, securing the area, herself and Peter right behind them.

The approach was silent, although all soon realized it was unnecessary. There wasn't much to secure in the open floor plan, and the three dead man were long past putting up a fight.

"This is really not what I expected." Diana observed, standing over one of the bodies on the floor.

Peter stood a few feet away, staring at an overturned chair, handcuffs discarded nearby, and another body laying a foot away. "Yeah, me either. But this is the place." he said, taking in the rest of the large room. There was a table on its side, a Tazer laying next to it, and a bloody baseball bat between the chair and table. Peter new without forensics that most of this blood was Neal's.

Peter and Diana were called over to another table still standing upright about 20 feet from the main scene of violence. They exchanged glances as both of them realized what was sitting on top of the table; a laptop and a video camera.

"It seems to be sound activated." the officer advised them as they approached. "It started up as soon as we entered the building. It's been recording right onto the laptop. It has days worth of feed."

Peter figured almost four days. He suddenly had a sick feeling at what was on that laptop, and was sure that he didn't want all the world watching that footage. "I want that logged now officer, then in my hands. The rest of the evidence can be reported to my offices when its compiled."

The officer nodded his head, understanding the desire to protect a partner. "Understood." he waved over another officer carrying evidence bags to log the chain of command, then turned it over to Peter.

"I hope this helps you figure out what happened here."

Peter looked at the laptop, then back to the officer. "Me too.".

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So we are getting closer to discovering what exactly happened here...please join me in the next chapter as Mozzie enters the story and we get to see how Neal is doing.

As always, thank you for reading and reviewing!

~km


	4. Chapter 4

Hello again! I want to thank everyone for the kind reviews and alerts...it really is great to see that what you are writing is being enjoyed. I wanted to get another update up because I am not sure if I will have the opportunity to do so tomorrow. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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When he was five years old, he had his first brush with death. He was at the beach with...family, he thinks, (must have been family) and it was hot. The ocean waters were cooling, waves higher than normal due to a resent storm. He didn't know that of course, he just knew they were huge. He was a little scared of them, the way they came in so casually, then rose to heights well above his head, crashing into the sandy beach with enough force to knock over an adult, much less a small boy.

He remembers being warned to stay near the shore. He also remembers wanting to play in the waves like he saw the older kids doing. Even at this age he felt a need to push, to do exactly the opposite of what he should. He ventured out into the waters, the waves calmer than they had been most of the day. He bobbed and floated, feeling the pull and push of the ocean, the power that it possessed to carry him out to sea or push him back to safety.

The lull in the waves soon gave way to the crashing of earlier, and he quickly became frightened. He tried to swim back to shore, but he was not a strong enough swimmer to fight the waves assault. He thought that he may have called for help, but he wasn't sure-his focus was on keeping his head above water. He felt another wave crash into his back, knocking him below the surface and stealing his breath. He sputtered and gasped, choking on salt water and feeling its burn in his eyes as he surfaced briefly, only to be taken under the surface again by another wave.

The sensation of floating and being lost overwhelmed him. The water was murky and dark-darker than he thought possible since he knew the sun was right there above him, if only he could get back to it. He couldn't get his bearings, couldn't figure out what was up or down. His lungs burned with their need for oxygen, and the waves just keep pulling him further and further down. He knew he was drowning then...knew that there was no escape. Those were his last thoughts before he lost consciousness.

As the story goes, he was spotted in the waves being tossed around and under, and a lifeguard reached him just in time. The child was not breathing, but the lifeguard preformed CPR (which never really works as well as people think) and the child survived. People whispered thanks to their gods and talks of miracles...but in the end, it was just another case of a child that almost died at the beach.

These memories are the closest thing he can ascribe to what is happening to him now. He feels trapped, unable to break the surface, pain a cold monster lurking in the murky depths below him. He want to escape, but he's can't seem to control this world-this place somewhere between awareness and oblivion.

Noise joins him here...loud, piercing screams that he wishes would stop. The screams seem to awaken the monster, pain becoming the only thing he's aware of...

No, wait, there is something else...he can feel the presence of someone else, even if he can't see them. There are words being murmured...reassuring, soothing, calming him. A gentle touch on his face, smoothing his hair, verifying that he is not alone. He feels the gently pressure of someone holding his hand, and it makes him feel safe. He squeezes back, willing the presence to stay, to know that he knows they are there-and that he is grateful he is not alone. He latches onto this thought as the darkness takes over. He gives into it, knowing that he will be saved once more.

* * *

Elizabeth was good at pacing. She was an accomplished worrier, her husband providing her plenty of opportunities to practice her skills. Now, she guessed she should add Neal to that list.

The call to Mozzie had went both better and worse than she expected. Mozzie was sure it was all some conspiracy to get him into the clutches of the hospital staff. Then Elizabeth started crying, and Mozzie told her simply that he would be there soon.

Neal was out of surgery and in a room quicker than expected. The doctor from earlier, Elizabeth wasn't sure of her name, reassured her that the surgery went better than they expected, the damage from the bullet's path not as extensive as they originally feared. He wasn't out of the woods yet, not by a long shot, but his chances had just improved dramatically. Elizabeth sent her husband a quick text to update him, then waited for Neal to be settled in his ICU hospital room.

The Intensive Care Unit was a study in contrast. It was quieter than the rest of the hospital, with more indirect lighting than one would expect. She figured it made sense in a way, though...it somehow felt more restful, calming...better to heal.

Neal was in a room directly across from the nurses station, attached to more monitors and machines than she thought possible. She stood in the doorway, unable to move into the room, hoping perhaps that this was in fact some crazy Neal Caffrey scam. It seemed impossible that this was the same young man who helped her make dinner less than a week ago.

She felt a presence next to her, and glanced to her right. A nurse in pink scrubs had come up next to her, a chart in her hands. She had a knowing look as she returned Elizabeth's quiet greeting.

"Neal Caffrey..." she read off the chart, glancing at the patient. "Is this your husband?"

Elizabeth smiled, a slightly startled look crossing her features. "Oh, no, not my husband. My husbands...partner." She took a moment to find the right title, settling on the one that seemed to fit the best.

The nurse glanced back at the chart, flipping over a few pages. "I see...FBI. Well he's in good hands here. My name's Nicole, and I will be the nurse in charge of his care."

Elizabeth smiled at Nicole, then glanced back into the room. There was a beeping coming from a monitor that seemed to be increasing in speed. "Is that normal?"

Nicole went into the room and noted some information from the various monitors into the chart in her hand. "The heavy sedation from surgery is wearing off...this is his reaction to it. Some people have a harder time with anesthesia than others."

As if in response to her statement, an alarm started to blare from the same monitor. The sound was piercing in the otherwise quiet space. Nicole called to another nurse for assistance, but Elizabeth didn't hear her words. She was transfixed by the look on Neal's face. He was fighting whatever secret battle was going on behind his closed eyes, and she feared that he was loosing.

Without thinking, she went to Neal's bedside, wanting to provide the young man with the strength to fight. She gently brushed his hair off his forehead, her free hand finding his resting on top of the white sheets. Leaning over, she whispered in his ear, knowing that the words didn't matter, as long as he knew she was there-that he wasn't alone. The alarm subsided, the beeping returning to a more normal pace. Then she felt the reward for her actions-the slightest movement of his hand in her's.

Nicole had returned, syringe in hand, but saw that there was no longer a need for it. "Well I think we will keep you around...you seem to have a calming effect."

Elizabeth looked up, a genuine smile gracing her face. "I think he's going to be okay..."

Nicole nodded, turning to leave the room. "Positive thoughts and support...some of the best medicine out there."

* * *

Hospitals were the tools of the "man". Mozzie was sure of this, and he vowed to never be trapped in one. They harbored disease and illness... and drugs to trick you into reveling all your secrets.

It was also where Neal was. By the way Elizabeth sounded over the phone (unsecured line, what was she thinking?), his friend was in rough shape. He entered the realm of the enemy, spotting "Junior Suit" (Jones, to those not in the know) exiting the cafeteria with two cups of coffee. This certainty saved him the effort of hacking into the hospitals mainframe to find out where they were holding Neal.

He slipped onto the elevator, his hat pulled down low over his eyes. No need to revel his presence until necessary. "Junior Suit" was good though, better than Mozzie expected.

"Hey Mozzie, Elizabeth is with Caffrey. They just moved him to the ICU." he informed as the door closed.

Mozzie looked around, making sure no one else would hear their conversation. They were alone in the elevator, but there were probably bugged. It couldn't be helped, he would have to face the fact that everything he said for the foreseeable future would be monitored and recorded.

"That is good..._Jones_." Mozzie replied, adding his name so they would know he knew it. "How is he? Is he..." Mozzie wasn't sure what to ask, not knowing any of the details of Neal's condition.

The doors opened on the fifth floor, and Jones exited the elevator with Mozzie following. He stopped, reading the signs to find Neal's room, 5042. "He's...alive." Jones settled on, fatigue evident in his voice.

Mozzie looked at the agent, sure that his answer was not in the least reassuring. They walked towards Neal's room in silence, finding Elizabeth leaning over the younger man.

"Mozzie..." Elizabeth sighed, happy to see the man. She had formed quite the odd friendship with him through Neal.

Jones brought over a chair for Elizabeth to sit on, then handed her the second cup of coffee. Mozzie stood to her left, stunned by the sight on the bed. It looked like Neal... just wrong. Neal was always in motion, always interacting, always alive. This was not how it was supposed to be.

Jones brought over another chair, slightly worried that if Mozzie didn't sit, he may be picking the little guy up off the floor. Mozzie sat as if on autopilot, still trying to reconcile the image of Neal with the reality in front of him.

"Neal, this is not acceptable. If June comes home to find you like this, I will be in big trouble."

* * *

Thank you for reading! I really like Mozzie, and I hope that my feel for him came through in this chapter. The next chapter will have Peter and Diana reviewing the tapes...

~km


	5. Chapter 5

Welcome back. Just to warn you, the next few chapters are...harsh. Our poor Neal is forced to endure much mistreatment. So please continue with this knowledge.

Next update should be tomorrow...don't want to keep all you kind readers waiting any longer than necessary.

* * *

They drove back to the office in silence, lost in the images from the warehouse. The overturned chair, the handcuffs, the blood, the three dead suspects- they seemed to have more questions then answers.

It was late, and no one was in the offices when they arrived. Diana set up the computer in the conference room, thinking that it may be better than the two of them trying to share the small laptop monitor. But then she looked at the plasma on the wall and thought maybe she didn't want to witness this in high definition.

Peter came into the room, holding two cups of microwaved coffee. They were both running on caffeine and adrenaline, and knew they still had a long night ahead of them. Diana looked at the computer, then at Peter, her hand waving in the general direction of the wall. "Do you want it up there? I wasn't sure if it would be...appropriate."

Peter considered this, his hand trying and failing to massage away the headache he could feel coming on. "I guess up there." he replied, knowing wherever they watched it would not be comfortable.

He had not realized how right he would be. Without any introduction, the footage starts with Neal, still unconscious, being dragged into the room and handcuffed to a chair. The three men started to debate what they should have for dinner, their backs to their captive. The normalcy of their conversation makes the whole situation even more disturbing. Diana leaned forward, starring at Neal's image in the background.

"Is he...moving?" Diana asked quietly.

Peter's uneasiness was rising. Yes, Neal was in fact moving ever so slightly. It was a maneuver he had seen the consultant do many times before, just less graceful than normal; he was trying to remove the handcuffs that bound him to the chair.

Apparently the biggest of the three, who the other two had called Rick, noticed this as well, and it made him explode in rage. "I thought you said he was out Jackson!" he bellowed, stalking over to the chair, scooping up the baseball bat from the ground on his way.

"I did-he was-" Jackson stuttered, clearly intimidated by the other man.

"Yeah, well we don't have any hope of keeping him cuffed when he's awake..." Rick said, grabbing a fistful of Neal's hair and jerking his head back. "Unless we give him a handicap." he added darkly.

Rick went around the back of the chair, Neal's dulled eyes trying to track his movements. Peter realized what was happening at the same time Neal seemed to...Rick brought the baseball bat down hard on Neal's left arm, his agonized scream almost covering the sound of bones breaking.

"Oh god..." Diana moaned quietly, her hand covering her mouth.

Peter could not remove his eyes from Neal, watching now as he fought the urge to vomit, then failed, retching as far over to the side as his bindings would allow. This seemed to fuel Rick's rage even more, and he took another swing at Neal, this time impacting his side hard enough to knock over Neal and the chair. Peter released a breath he didn't realize he was holding when he saw that Neal had thankfully passed out.

"Jackson, clean this crap up. I'm not going to deal with puke smell in here until this is done." Rick ordered, tossing the bat on the table. He glanced back at the still form laying on the ground and smirked. "If this is his best, then we will have what we want sooner than we thought."

Rick and the third man left the camera's view, leaving Jackson alone with Neal. He approached Neal slowly, almost timidly, and worked at righting the chair and Neal. Then he left for a moment, returning with a bucket and cleaning supplies, making quick work of the mess on the floor.

When he was done, he glanced around, seeming to verify that no one was near to hear him as he spoke quietly, almost a prayer. "Just please tell him what he wants, Caffrey. Don't let him drag this out."

He walked away then, the camera staying on for another minute before going black. The playback starts up again, this time Neal's moan starting the recording. He picks his head up slowly, taking in his surroundings, and his gaze stops on the camera. His blue eyes seem to focus on it, and Peter finds himself staring back. Almost like he knew this would happen, Neal speaks to the camera in a whisper.

"I have never missed my tracker more than this moment." He takes a breath, his voice full of emotion. "Now would be a good time to find me again, Peter." It's said with such hope that it feels like a punch to Peter's stomach.

Neal lets his chin drop back to his chest, and another minute of silence causes the screen to go black again. Peter leans forward then, pausing the recording just as the next one starts. Diana reaches across the table, her hand resting on Peter's lower arm. "You didn't let him down Peter."

Peter looks at her hand, trying to believe what she said. "I didn't find him. He was enduring this hell for days, and then he got himself out of this mess somehow. How did I not let him down?"

"You looked for him Peter, and he knows it. Now we owe it to him to find out what happened. We don't know who killed those men in that room, and we don't know if there are any other players in this game. Until Neal can talk, this is the only way."

Peter took a steadying breath. "Your good at this rallying the troops thing."

"We owe him this much." She replied quietly, her hand now hovering over the play button. Peter gave her a slight nod to continue the playback.

"Get those smelling salts Brad." Rick is heard saying in the background. "Caffrey thinks he can sleep through this party, and he's the guest of honor."

Rick comes into view walking over to Neal and passing the salts under his nose. Neal's head moves away instinctively from the smell, and Rick grabs his head to hold it steady.

"This is not the wake up call I asked for..." Neal mumbles, pain obvious in his tone. Peter waits for Rick to react to Neal's comment, but all he does is laugh.

"You never did know when to take something serious Caffrey."

Neal glances up at the other man, the hint of a smile on his face, "And let me guess, you're here to teach me-"

Rick punches Neal in the stomach, then grabs his chin to force Neal to look up. Neal tries and fails to shake his head out of the other man's grip. "You want to know something Caffrey...I never really liked you."

"Really? Never would have guessed it..." Neal replies, gasping for air.

"Yeah, really." Another punch to the stomach, then a handful of hair to yank his head back up. "So when I was approached with this contract, I took it for free."

Another punch, and Neal's body tries to curl into the pain, attempting to protect itself from the abuse. But Rick won't have it, grabbing Neal's hair once more to force him upright.

"So here is how it's going to go Caffrey. Our boss has a simple request of you. Tell us what we want to know, and we are done here."

"Right..." Neal choked, still trying to catch his breath. "I tell you what you want to know, and I get to go..." the disbelief evident in his words.

Rick acknowledged Neal's words by placing his free hand around Neal's throat. The younger mans eyes widened in panic having to gasp now to draw in any air.

"I think you understand my position. Tell me what I want to know and I will end this for you." Rick tightened the grip he had on Neal's throat, cutting off all access to breathing.

Neal tried to fight, but his arms and legs being restrained made it impossible. Rick started to laugh at Neal's struggling, then removed his hand from his throat. Neal immediately started coughing, his body desperate for oxygen.

Rick seemed amused by the display in front of him. He slowly pulled a cigar out of his shirt pocket, making a show of lighting it, waiting for Neal to recover.

"So my boss, he has a simple dream. There are rumors about you Caffrey. Stories about what you took, what you hid, before your trip to the slammer. It's estimated to be in the millions..." Rick started, walking slowly around the bound man. "And my boss wants to know where it is. Where did you hide all of it. The paintings, the jewelry, all of it."

Neal shook his head, "I don't know what you're talking about..."

"I was hoping you would say something like that." Rick replied, removing the lit cigar from his mouth and placing the burning end against Neal's lower arm. Neal tried to stifle his cry, but was unsuccessful, once again trying to get away from the pain.

"That's going to sting a bit. I'm going to leave you with that a moment to think it over." Rick said, walking out of the camera's view. "And Caffrey, I do hope you decline my offer again. I'm looking forward to this."

Left alone again, Neal looks around, seeming to search for something, but finding nothing. He closes his eyes and seems to be concentrating on breathing. Without any significant noise, the recording ends once more.

Peter stops the playback, then reaches for his cellphone. Diana leans back in her chair, eyes closed, listening to Peter's end of the conversation.

"Jones-yeah, how is he doing? Okay, that's good...right? Okay, listen to me. There is mention on this tape of another suspect...the guy calling the shots. Keep an eye out. Keep him safe."

Peter lets out a slow breath, "Yeah Jones, put her on...thanks. Hey Elle..thank you for being there with him..." Peter lets out a small laugh. "Yeah, he sure does know how to get into trouble. I love you too, Elle."

Diana glances over at Peter as the call is ended. "How's he doing?"

Peter returns her glance, exhaustion mixing with hope in his expression. "He's still out. They are worried about some internal damages, but for now he's stable." He sighed, recalling his wife's words. "He gripped Elle's hand..."

They sat a moment longer, neither wanting to go back to the real life horror movie starring Neal Caffrey, but knowing it was more important now than before-the mention of someone pulling the strings made it impossible to avoid.

As the playback picked up once more, it seems that many hours have passed. It is not Rick this time that enters the room, but Brad, rousing Neal at his entrance.

"So Rick is going to let me have a shot at you Caffrey." Brad stated threateningly.

Neal tried to plea his case with his latest tormentor. "Look Brad, I don't know what you guys are talking about. There isn't any buried treasure-"

His words are cut off by the appearance of something in Brad's hand. "Brad, don't-please-I really hate Tasers-"

"Good." The sound of arcing electricity is joined by Neal's pained groan. Brad only held the devise to Neal's chest for a moment, but Neal's eyes rolled back, passing out once more.

"You have got to be kidding me..." Brad grumbled, searching for something on the table. Finding what he was looking for, he breaks open another smelling salt packet and waves it under Neal's nose.

Neal wakes slower than the previous time, his muscles still visibly twitching from the Taser. He blinks rapidly, clearly not aware of his surroundings.

"Tell me where the stuff is Caffrey!" Brad yells, applying the Taser again. Neal's body goes ridged, his muscles seizing from the second assault.

Neal passes out again, and does not respond to the smelling salts a third time. "Dammit Brad..." Jackson can be heard off camera shouting. "If you kill him Rick will be pissed!"

Brad seems to see that as a legitimate concern, leaning in to check Neal's pulse. "He's still alive." he mumbles, tossing the Taser on the table,seeming to have lost interest in his new toy. Brad leaves the area, telling Jackson that he was going out for a beer. Another minute of Neal unconscious, then fade to black once more.

The sound of Neal's ragged breathing starts the recording next. He awakes with a start, panic clearly written on his face, looking for another attacker. Seeing that he is alone, he lowers his head, and his shoulders start to shake. Peter and Diana watch helpless as Neal starts to sob, his fear and frustration finding the only outlet they have. After a few minutes his crying slows, and eventually he gives into exhaustion and falls asleep.

* * *

Wow. That was harder to write than I expected it to be. Just to let you know, there is another chapter of the video, then onto Neal's recovery from these events. I hope it was a good read, and that you stay with me on this adventure. As always, reviews are great, and help inspire the muse.

~km

.


	6. Chapter 6

I want to thank you all for your wonderful, encouraging reviews and alerts. To know that someone else is reading what you put out, and actually wants to read more of it is simply amazing.

As with the previous chapter, I must warn that this is a harsh, dark place I have put poor Neal. Please read with this knowledge.

* * *

Peter was not sure how much more of this he could take. The sound of Neal's breakdown was almost more than he could stand. Diana seemed to be equally moved, her dark eyes shining with unshed tears.

"He's safe now...I know this. But my god Peter..." She murmured, running her hands through her hair, needing a moment to recover.

Peter stood up, no longer able to sit still. He felt a need to abandon this video, this room, and go to Neal, just to verify that he was, in fact safe. But he knew that he couldn't. The words were still fresh in his memory- "_Our boss wants to know where you hid everything._.."

He looked out the window, his reflection staring back at him. It was late, and the city was lit up bright as day. It was full of people- living, breathing, loving-none the wiser to the images he and Diana were witnessing. Its almost too insane to comprehend.

"Diana, I understand if you need to leave this..." he started, not turning around. He wanted to give her the out he so desperately desired. Instead of taking his offer, she came to join him at the window.

Arms crossed, she stood next to him a moment, also taking in the view of the city. She cleared her throat before trying to speak, her light accent more noticeable than usual. "Peter, I do not want to see this, I won't lie. But if there is a chance that this bastard is on that tape, then we need to do this. Neal's survival would have meant nothing if he goes after him again."

Peter felt his face flush- he was exhausted, he knew this, his emotions too close to the surface. But he feared that if he took a break, he would not have the strength to come back to this nightmare. Taking a moment, he closed his eyes, attempting to shore up his defenses. This was something he had to do- _they had to do_- to ensure Neal's safety. "Okay, you ready for this?"

Diana breathed out slowly. "Honestly, no. But lets get back to it."

They took their seats again before the playback continued. Rick was back, and Peter felt his stomach drop, seeing the knife he held in his hand.

"So Neal, I must admit you are holding up better than expected." Neal let out a small grunt in acknowledgment, trying to follow Rick's movements. "But I have to tell you, my boss wants answers, and he wants them now. Apparently they have every fed from here to D.C looking for you, and its getting too hot to keep you around much longer."

Neal's eyes kept tracking the knife in Rick's hand as he spoke, his words tinged in pain. "Yeah, Rick, that's not real encouraging. You're going to kill me if I tell you and kill me if I don't-that really doesn't work for me."

Peter clenched his jaw, his thoughts screaming at Neal to just be quiet, to not antagonize the man with the knife. But the words tumble out of Neal's mouth regardless.

Rick leaned into Neal's space, running the knife slowly across Neal's forehead then down his cheek, stopping at his jawline, the slight pressure causing blood to appear in the knifes wake.

"Well there's killing you, and then there's ripping your guts out while you watch." Rick commented casually, trailing the knife down to Neal's neck. "So tell me, which do you prefer?"

Neal's eyes were wide, almost frantic, feeling the knife on his neck. With a sudden movement, Rick aimed the knife lower, slashing Neal's chest through his shirt. A startled outcry of pain escaped his lips as the knife returned to resting against his jugular. Blood started to seep through the white shirt, Neal's breathing rapid as he tried to stay conscious.

"You really don't seem to know a good deal when you hear it Caffrey." Rick leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Tell me what I want to know Neal..." the knife trailed further down his neck, almost like a caress. When it reached his collar bone, it stopped, Rick slowly twisting the point into tender flesh.

Neal turned his head, trying to move away from the knife and the words being spoken to him. "I could bleed you right now, Neal, it would be quick." Driving the knife in deeper, he added, "Well quicker than this anyway."

Neal's whole body started to tremble in pain, all the color drained from his face. "Go to hell, Rick." he replied, through clenched teeth.

"What is the big issue, Neal?" Rick asked, almost in a friendly tone. Peter really wished Rick would stop using Neal's first name. This assumed familiarity was somehow more sickening. "I bet you shared this information with all sorts of people. It's not such a big deal."

Neal's eyes were clenched shut, his breathing coming in short burst. Diana glanced over at Peter, no longer able to hold back her tears. She did not want to witness this brutality anymore, but was not capable of leaving...it would feel like abandoning Neal somehow.

"Come on Neal, who else knows where you stashed your stuff? Mozzie? Kate? That high end fence...what was her name?" The knife slowly moved back up Neal's neck, across his cheek, then back down again. "Did you share this secret with any of them?"

Neal didn't even try to answer, the blood from his wounds drenching the front of his shirt now. "No, I bet you didn't tell them anything-couldn't really trust them, could you?"

The knife pressed against Neal's chin, forcing his head up. "Who could you trust with such information, huh?" Rick asked, his tone mocking. "Your FBI friend? Maybe the two of you were in this together?"

Neal choked, his shock at this statement evident. "Peter Burke isn't capable of dishonest, much less criminal-"

"No probably not," Rick agreed, "But how about his wife...Elizabeth?"

Neal's eyes flew open, fear radiating off him. "She has nothing to do with this." Neal stated, his voice stronger than it had been. Peter had stood up at the mention of his wife's name, every ounce of his being captivated by the images on the screen.

"Well maybe I will pay her a visit, Neal. Bring her here so she can play. Would you like that? Would you like to hear her scream? She would beg you to tell us everything,"

Neal's body had stopped shaking, his anger clearly overriding his pain. "If you go anywhere near her, I will kill you." Neal's voice was dark, his eyes filled with a rage Peter didn't recognize ever seeing in the younger man before.

"That would be something I'd like to see you try Caffrey." Rick said, taking a step back from the chair. He walked over to the table then, and picked up Brad's discarded Taser. "Yeah, I'd like to see you try." he repeated, pressing the Taser against Neal's shoulder. Neal screamed in agony, then slumped in the chair, unconscious.

Brad came into view, handing Rick a piece of paper. "I don't know Rick...this was bad enough, taking an FBI consultant. But this guy's wife?"

"Look, Finch isn't going to be happy to hear that we got nothing. You want to deal with him?"

Brad looked away, shaking his head. "No man, you know I don't. But, come on-no other options?"

Rick walked back over towards Neal, contempt dripping from his words. "He has no self preservation. But he won't let a her get hurt, not if he can help it. He'll talk as soon as he sees her here. We won't even have to touch her...much"

They walked out of the room together, and Diana stopped the playback. Peter paced the conference room like a trapped animal, staring at the blank monitor. "Play it Diana." he orders.

"Peter, listen-"

"No, play it dammit!" he shouted, causing Diana to flinch slightly at the unexpected anger directed her way,

Peter stopped his pacing, his hands gripping the top of one of the chairs. "That was wrong-I didn't mean to yell at you-"

Diana waved him off, an unhappy smile gracing her lips. "No, don't apologize Peter. If they had said 'Christie' I would have been a little over the top too."

"Yeah, well I was not expecting a psychopath knowing my wife's name and using it as... leverage."

"Peter, I don't think anyone would be expecting that." her hand reached for the computer but instead of starting from where they left off, she went back to right before Neal passed out. She replayed the conversation between Rick and Brad, listening intently.

Peter listened as well, eyes widening at the realization-they had mentioned a third party, the one they were waiting for. Peter had not heard it the first time, his anger at hearing Rick utter his wife's name drowning out all else.

"Do we know that name, Finch?" Peter looked at Diana, grateful that she had been paying attention.

She shook her head in reply. "Not yet, but we will." She sounded so sure that Peter had no doubts that she would know everything about this man as soon as humanly possible.

Glancing at the laptop screen, then back at Peter, she seemed almost wary. Peter returned her glance with a raised eyebrow.

"I think this is the last segment before we triggered it." she seemed almost hesitant to continue.

Peter shared her hesitation, but he needed to find out how this ended. Had Finch come to the warehouse? He needed to know, and watching this last part may have the answers he wanted.

"...yeah, I know." she said, acknowledging his unspoken thoughts.

Neal was coughing, trying to catch his breath between pain filled gasps. He closed his eyes, seeming to will his body to obey his request to ignore the torment it had endured. His face was pale, the blood loss clearly making his movements sluggish.

"Is he trying to pick those handcuffs again?" Diana asked, already knowing the answer. "But his arm..."

Neal was obviously struggling, biting his lip hard enough to make it bleed. Peter thought absently that Neal didn't have enough blood to spare this latest wound. Suddenly there were footsteps approaching, and Neal's movements became hasty in his rush, his broken arm twisting, his pained outcry a result.

Jackson approached Neal, stopping a foot away from the still struggling captive. "Look Caffrey, I didn't sign on for this. I mean, I figured they may rough you up a bit...but this..."

Neal ceased his struggle, bringing all his attention to the other man. "Yeah Jackson? What did you think was going to happen the moment they grabbed me without masks? I know each one of you." Neal's words were full of venom.

Jackson looked away, speaking quietly. "Yeah, well you know how Rick is. He would kill me just as easy if I told him I wasn't going to help. But this business with that lady...I can't be a part of that."

Neal blinked rapidly, trying to think of a way to use this hesitation, this doubt. But Peter could tell that the blood loss was effecting Neal's normally rapid fire thinking.

"Well then warn them. Call Peter. Hell, call in an anonymous tip. Anything to protect her from Rick." Neal pleaded, desperation in his words. Peter's rush of gratitude was so strong it took his breath away.

"I can't-you don't know-" Jackson started, looking back at Neal. He took out a utility knife, waving it towards the rope holding Neal's legs to the chair. "If I do this, will you-"

Neal cut him off. "Let me out and I will not mention you-to anyone." The hope of escape giving him strength. Jackson looked around again, then quickly moved to cut through the rope.

"Always knew you couldn't be trusted." Rick's voice stated, just out of the cameras range.

Jackson stood, turning his back to Neal. His hands up, he looked like he was trying to surrender instead of plead his case. Before he could voice any excuses a gunshot exploded in the room. Jackson stumbled back from the impact, then fell into Neal, both men tumbling to the floor.

Rick moved into view, Brad next to him, a look of revulsion betraying his thoughts. Rick didn't seem to notice, his anger at Jackson's betrayal causing his voice to shake. "You take him and throw him in that dumpster out back-let the rats get rid of him." Rick ordered, turning his back on the scene.

Brad hesitated, his eyes glued to the body of their former partner. Rick cleared his throat, his back still to Brad, causing Brad to jump slightly. He glanced back at Rick, then moves to pull Jackson off of Neal. Suddenly he stopped, then stumbled back a few steps, pulling a gun from the small of his back.

His hands now freed of the handcuffs, Neal held Jackson's gun, his aim unwavering, He shook his head slightly, with a look warning Brad to be quiet as he carefully pulled himself free. He stood slowly, the effort clear on his face, but the gun stayed steady.

Neal motioned for Brad to move towards Rick, just as the other man turned around. Rick seemed to be shocked by this turn of events, his gun slowly raised to point at Brad.

"Rick...what the hell?" Brad exclaimed, now having two weapons aimed at him.

"You son of a bitch...you think you can betray me too?" Rick bellowed.

"What? No-he got free on his own-I didn't-" Brad responded, his gun still aimed at Neal, but his hand shaking.

"Yeah? Well then, prove it." Rick demanded, lowering his gun slightly.

Brad stared at Rick for a moment, his eyes wide with fear. He seemed to realize what Rick wanted him to do, taking aim and firing at Neal.

Neal stumbled back from the force of the impact, the gun breaking its target for a moment. Brad watched, stunned, as Neal brought the weapon back to him though, and pulled the trigger, hitting him in the chest. Brad dropped his gun, falling to his knees as Neal turns his attention to Rick.

"I didn't think you had it in you, Caffrey-" Rick commented, amused.

"Let me surprise you again then." his voice was ice, his eyes vacant as he pulled the trigger before Rick could react.

Rick collapsed where he stood, and after heartbeat, Neal dropped the gun. He stood there, swaying slightly, his right hand slowly pulling up the edge of his shirt to reveal the wound from Brad's shot. His hand shook as he lowered his shirt, then he stumbled out of the camera's range.

* * *

Poor Neal. I do actually love this character, so I believe it's about time he gets a little protection and care. Soon...

~km


	7. Chapter 7

Hello all! I am so sorry for the delay in posting this latest chapter. Thank you for all the reviews, and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Peter Burke had pursued Neal Caffrey for literally years. He had made it his mission to get inside the young conman's head, to discover what made him tick. He knew that Neal had a love of the finer things life had to offer- the best coffee, the finest wines, the most expensive clothing. But Peter suspected it was not because Neal had been born into it. He moved in those circles, but was never truly part of that world.

Peter knew that Neal was incredibly intelligent, self educated, and more than capable of earning those degrees he so expertly forged. Neal had a mastery of the technological world that rivaled many of Peter's FBI team, along with an uncanny ability to anticipate their movements to avoid capture. He had, allegedly of course, stolen some of the most valuable and well protected pieces of art from both public and private collections, often without anyone even realizing a theft had taken place. Peter suspected, although he didn't voice it, that there were quite a few Caffrey forgeries hanging in the most prestigious galleries with none the wiser that it was not the original.

Neal had been able to pull this off because he was an extremely gifted artist. He had a talent that most only dreamed of, effortless and natural, but he was unwilling to share this talent with the world. Instead, he chose to copy other artist to release his need to create. Peter always assumed it was all part of the elaborate image Neal created for the world- everything was carefully crafted to protect who the true person was. Releasing any of his own personal art would be opening a window into the soul, the essence of who Neal was, and that was not something he was willing to risk.

Peter also knew that Neal abhorred violence, and on at least one occasion, set up a complex chain of events that led to the capture of an associate that had violated his 'no gun' decree. Peter had never really wondered why that was since many of the crimes he investigated where non-violent, it never really seemed too out of place. But given Neal's chosen life, dealing with violence seemed unavoidable, which was why Neal almost exclusively worked alone.

With all this research and knowledge, Peter figured he was as close to an expert as one could get in regards to the conman. But then there were the inconsistencies, the pieces of the Caffrey puzzle Peter didn't even know he was missing until after Neal's second apprehension and the partnership that came soon after. Neal didn't just not like guns, he hated them passionately, yet he could wield them like a pro. He was familiar with more firearms than Peter himself was, and knowledgeable of the dark underworld traveled by the most dangerous of people. Neal could interact with people in this world as if he was belonged there- but Peter could see it was just another con. It was in Neal's eyes; in the haunted look that he just barely hid when he realized Peter was watching him. Every time they put Neal into that world Peter worried that if he could see through it, then perhaps the criminal they were pursuing would as well. But they never saw past the easy smile and charming words, which Peter silently thanked the powers that be for at the end of each case.

So Peter thought he knew Neal Caffrey, even when he realized he didn't. He worked on getting past all the masks and walls that Neal put up, and he was making progress. But he now knew that he had barely scratched the surface. Who he saw on the video was not the same man who's eyes danced when he made a casual remark that broke an investigation wide open. It wasn't the same man that could effortless talk to a child or make a scared victim at ease.

"Boss?" Diana asked softly, seeing his unease, "This tape clearly shows Neal acting in self defense. No one will question that."

Peter looked out the window, the image of Neal pulling the trigger- the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, on instant replay in his mind. There was no doubt that Neal had acted to not only save his own life, but that of Elizabeth's as well. "Yeah, there is no doubt. I'll have Hughes review it...see if we can keep the people who access to it at a minimum."

Diana nodded in agreement. She didn't want Neal exposed anymore than Peter did. "What do we do now?" She inquired, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.

Peter glanced over in her direction, a tired smile on his face. "You go home and get some rest. I'll be at the hospital- I want you and Jones to see what you can find out about this Finch, but not until after you have had some down time."

Diana stood up, stretching her sore limbs. "No arguments here." She packed up the laptop and handed it to Peter. "I'm glad he did what he did Peter." she commented quietly.

Peter thought about what she said for a moment, weighing his own thoughts on the subject. "Yeah, I wish that he hadn't had to, but I am too."

* * *

Peter pulled into the hospital's parking garage a short time later, and was in the elevator when his cell phone vibrated to indicate an incoming text.

_Martin Finch_ was the extent of Diana's text.

_Rest. Need you functional._ He typed in response, then added _Thanks _before he hit the send button.

Neal was in the ICU, and as he approached the unit he could hear the commotion of controlled panic. He knew instinctively that it had to do with Neal, and found himself running the rest of the distance to where Neal was being kept.

Elizabeth was standing outside a room across from the nurse's station, tears streaming down her face. Jones and Mozzie were standing next to her, both looking a little shell-shocked.

"What's happening?" Peter asked, trying to see into the room.

"He woke up..." Elizabeth responded, "They weren't expecting it so soon...he still had the breathing tube-the ventilator to help him breath- and he-"

"Panicked." Mozzie supplied quietly.

They all glanced at the room as they heard a page for more assistance. Then a young woman in scrubs came out, looking at Elizabeth. "Can you try to calm him again?"

Elizabeth was in the room before the question was even finished, Peter following behind her. Neal was being restrained, barely, by two nurses, obviously trying to prevent any additional damage to the patient. Neal's eyes were wide, unfocused and frantic- until he heard Elizabeth speak.

"Neal...Neal, stop fighting them, they are trying to help-" She started, her voice calm, soothing. "Its okay, we're here...me and Peter...Jones- even Mozzie. Its okay..."

Neal's eyes searched the room looking for her, and when she came into view his struggling stopped. The nurse that had requested Elizabeth's assistance came back in with a syringe and went to Neal's IV.

"Mr. Caffrey? Neal?" She asked, "Can you hear me?"

Neal glanced over towards the new voice, fear creeping back into his eyes. "I want to get that tube out of your throat, but I need you to relax. Can you do that for me?"

The drug she had introduced into his IV line was already having an effect, his eyes blinking owlishly as he nodded slowly. "Good. Just give us a few moments and we will take care of it. Elizabeth will stay right here with you, okay?" she gave Elizabeth a questioning look to verify.

Elizabeth placed her hand on Neal's forehead, brushing his hair back. "Yeah, I will be right here." She told him reassuringly.

Neal's eyes drifted closed all the way, and the alarm that had been blaring quieted as his vitals returned closer to normal.

Peter came to stand behind his wife, placing a kiss on top of her head. "That was amazing." he said in awe.

The nurse smiled at them. "Yeah, I think we may need to keep her on staff. My name is Nicole, I am the nurse in charge of Mr. Caffrey. You must be...Peter?"

Peter glances at his wife, then back at the nurse. "Yeah, that's me. What happened here?" he asked, indicating the bed and the now sleeping Neal.

Nicole glanced up as another person entered the room, then gently ushered Peter and Elizabeth back out into the hallway. "Mr. Caffrey, -Neal- had a breathing tube inserted for surgery. There were concerns that he may have to go back, and he still may, but for now since he is conscious, we are going to remove the tube. Most patients don't do that-" she told them, waving her arm in Neal's general direction.

Peter smiled. "Yeah, that's Neal. Can you update me on his condition?"

"The doctor who operated on him will be doing her rounds in about 10 minutes. She wanted to speak to you personally." Nicole replied. "As soon as he is finished removing the tube you can go back in. I gave him a mild sedative, so he will not be out long. I wouldn't want a repeat performance if he realizes your not there."

The wait wasn't long until they were allowed back into Neal's room. Elizabeth went straight in, wanting to be there just in case Neal woke again in a panic, while the three men held back at Peter's direction.

"Jones, go home, get some rest. You and Diana will be looking into some leads later today. She will bring you up to speed."

Jones looked a little hesitate, but a lot more tired. "Okay, will do." he agreed. "See you Mozzie." he added as he walked towards the elevator.

"Names?" Mozzie replied, mock indignant. "You really need to teach them better." he informed Peter.

Peter wasn't really following Mozzie's train of thought, but it did give him an idea. "Hey Mozzie, do you know a Martin Finch?"

Mozzie squinted his eyes, seeming to review an internal list of names. Instant recall, Peter thought to himself, was not always actually instant.

"No Suit, I don't think I know that name..." he replied after a moment, glancing sideways before continuing. "Should I?"

Peter's hand came up to massage the bridge of his nose. He knew that he could trust Mozzie, at least as far as Neal's safety was concerned. "Mozzie, I need you to find out everything you can about this guy. But be careful, he's dangerous."

Mozzie gave Neal's room a glance, nodding in understanding. "I will report back with this information." he adjusted his hat, then gave Peter a meaningful look. "You two watch out for him."

Mozzie walked away with purpose, and Peter went to join his wife at Neal's bedside. He sat next to her, putting an arm around her shoulder, leaning his head against hers. "You are amazing, you know that?"

Elizabeth leaned into her husband's embrace. "Peter, he was so upset. I don't know why, but I seem to calm him. I think its hearing a familiar voice."

Peter figured it was more than that, knowing that Neal had formed a strong bond with his wife over the past year. Elizabeth had a way with Neal, seeing the good in him when others were less inclined to do so. She felt protective of the young man, and Neal seemed to truly appreciate it.

"Agent Burke?" a voice called from the doorway, drawing them back to the world. "I'm Doctor Andrews, we met when Mr. Caffrey came in."

Peter and Elizabeth stood, each shaking the doctors hand. "I hear we had quite the commotion a few minutes ago..." she commented, looking at his chart. She walked over to the monitors tracking Neal's heart rate along with other vitals. "I apologize for that. He seems to really fight the sedation."

She leaned over Neal, gently moving an eyelid to check pupil reaction, then listened to his breathing and heart. "Mr. Caffrey is doing better than we expected. The trauma he experienced will take some time to heal. We are going to have to operate on that wrist in the next day or two- the orthopedic will take care of that."

Elizabeth was looking at the arm secured in a soft cast, seeming to notice it for the first time. "Why do you need to operate on it?"

"The break was several days old- it had started to set, but poorly. We will need to get in there and repair it if he has any hope of full mobility." Doctor Andrews replied, looking at the bandage on Neal's shoulder, then his abdomen. "The plastic surgeon worked on the stitches Mr. Caffrey received to his face, neck and shoulder to minimize scarring. The burn on his arm was already healing, so that would be something he may want to address later."

Elizabeth's eyes were wide with shock as the list of Neal's injuries grew. Peter could feel her tense next to him, and wanted to spare her the gory details. She probably would eventually know everything, because she almost always did, but for now she had absorbed enough horror.

"Doctor," Peter started, clearing his throat. "Can we discuss this in the hallway?"

The doctor looked at them both, then nodded in agreement. "Mrs. Burke, your friend here is strong. He's a fighter." she said reassuringly.

Elizabeth nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. Peter gave her arm a gently squeeze, then walked out to join Dr Andrews in the hallway. "Doctor, just so you know, we have confirmed that Neal suffered several days of abuse, including being Tasered several times."

"Yes, we noted several small burns that are consistent with a Taser. He was also severely dehydrated, and of course there was the blood loss." she was reviewing his chart again, scrunching her nose like she didn't approve of something she was looking at. "It does not indicate the previous trauma-"

"What previous trauma?" Peter inquired.

"There was evidence of either a prior gunshot wound or perhaps a stab wound to the area we had to operate on today. The medical attention was clearly sub- par for the previous injury, resulting in a lot of excessive scar tissue." she seemed to find the concept distasteful.

Peter racked his memories of Neal Caffrey the fugitive to see if there was any evidence of this previous injury- he could come up with nothing. "Doctor, do you know how old this injury may be?"

"No, not really. It was fully healed, and the external scaring has faded substantially. So not within the past five year at least."

Peter agreed absently. No, Peter assumed that if Neal had been injured in jail he would have been made aware of it. "What's his prognosis?"

" Like I mentioned, there was a lot of blood loss, which will make his recovery difficult, even with the transfusions. The arm will still need to be attended to, and there is always a risk of infection. But he is young, which is an advantage. I have reserved hopes for his recovery at this point. The next few days will be the true test; there was a tremendous amount of trauma, and it has taken its toll."

Peter thanked the Doctor for taking the time to talk to him, and she left with the promise of keeping him posted. He went back to Elizabeth's side, feeling exhausted.

"Hey..." she greeted him, wrapping her arms around him in an embrace. He closed his eyes, breathing her in, and suddenly knew that Neal would pull through.

As if the fates felt a need to reassure, the smallest of sighs made him glance over towards Neal's bed and he felt himself smile as he was greeted by glassy blue eyes.

"Neal-" Elizabeth breathed, seeing that Neal was awake.

Neal gave them a slight, lopsided smile, then seemed confused. It reminded Peter of their illicit escape from the medical complex where Neal was drugged. "Where?" he asked, wincing at the raw feel of his throat.

Peter leaned over and rested a hand on his shoulder. "You're in a hospital buddy."

"Ohhh..." he replied as if he really didn't understand. "Tired..." he added as if answering an unasked question.

"Yeah, I bet you are. You get some rest, we will be here when you wake up." Peter responded reassuringly.

Neal's eyes blinked slowly, trying and failing to stay open. "Okay, that's good..." Neal whispered as he drifted back to sleep.

Peter leaned back, the weight of worry a little less on his shoulders at the moment. Elizabeth brought him back to her embrace, rubbing his back in slow circles. Peter closed his eyes, allowing his wife's comfort and the sound of a reassuringly steady beep to lull him to sleep.

* * *

What? Prior injury? Huh? Gee, I wonder if that is why Neal doesn't like guns...hmmm...

I hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading!

~km


	8. Chapter 8

Hello all! Here is a short little update to get some more story out there for you. As a side note, although I had intended this to be something more along the lines of a short hurt/comfort story, it has taken on an angsty life of its own. I hope you don't mind. Once again, I want to thank you all for your kind reviews, and I hope to respond to all of you personally.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Diana sat in the hard plastic chair that the hospital kindly provided to ensure that visitors stayed for as little as possible. She figured that must be why they invested in these poorly constructed metal and plastic torture devises-

Wrong word choice. Right. Maybe the chair wasn't so bad after all, she thought as she readjusted her position for the hundredth time. She glanced at Neal, resting better since they removed most of the monitors and IV lines from him this morning. After four days in the ICU he had been deemed healthy enough to be moved to a private room. A few more days of hospital recovery and it was on to house arrest.

Okay, so not really house arrest, but if Elizabeth had her say, it would be. Not because Neal was a flight risk, certainly not any time soon, but to protect him from anything that may be a danger to him. Diana smiled at the memory of Peter, acting exasperated, but agreeing anyway to her demand that Neal go with them when he was discharged from the hospital.

In reality, Peter and Diana had discussed this in length two days before, both coming to the same conclusion. The best team to watch over Neal was their own, and Neal would in fact be safest if he was in their care. The fact that Elizabeth wanted Neal to stay with her and Peter made the whole operation that much easier.

Diana returned her attention to the book she had borrowed from Christie- a romance novel that was strangely addictive- but was soon distracted by Neal mumbling something she couldn't quite understand. It wasn't because of the volume, but more the words. They were words that she recognized, but they were not in English.

Diana bent forward to lean on the edge of the bed's safety railing. As the daughter of a diplomat she had traveled a great deal as a child and had been exposed to many different languages. If she wasn't mistaken, this one was Russian.

She tried to remember the little she knew of the language. Her mother had just spent a little over a year in Moscow, and although Diana picked up French and Spanish without much effort, the hard constants of Russian and German had given her some trouble.

"пожалуйста ..." His voice was soft, pleading. "препятствуйте ей пойти"

"_Please, let her go_" she repeated to herself. "Who Neal?" She asked, her Russian less fluent than his.

"Please..." he repeated, "She doesn't know anything..." Diana noticed the accent, a natural Russian, not that of someone who learned the language as an adult.

She waited for a few minutes, but Neal didn't speak anymore, in any language. Interesting development, she thought, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket.

"_Did you know that Neal spoke Russian?"_ She texted Peter.

The response was fairly quick. "_No, I didn't. Want to explain?"_

She thought about how to explain what had just occurred in text speak, then thought better of it. "_Tell you when you get here."_

* * *

Neal could always tell when he was dreaming. Well, most of the times. Some times there was that gray zone where dreams tried to imitate real life, but they were always a little too vivid, a little too obvious. Real life was more muted, more controllable.

Unless of course there was a gun pressed against the small of your back. That was too real, too vivid, and well beyond his control.

So even though he was sure (pretty sure) that there really wasn't someone controlling his every movement with the very real threat of violence, his heart rate increased, his breathing became more rapid. Because even thought he knew _this_ was just a dream, it had been real, just a few days prior. But then it changed, the setting became a snow covered field instead of a museum hallway- the woman in danger his sister instead of his partner's wife-

He awoke with a start, his subconscious ending the replay that he saw every time he closed his eyes. Looking around the hospital room he realized that for the first time in days he was alone. He closed his eyes again, taking in a steadying breath, trying to push the memories back under the surface where they could be controlled. He had not thought of his sister in almost eight years, but the assault that he was recovering from, along with all the pain medication they were administering, seemed to abolish the wall he had so carefully constructed between his past and his present incarnation.

He heard someone walk back into the room, the steps light, unaware that he was awake. Neal thought for a moment that he may let them believe he was asleep, but his breathing was still a little too fast, giving away too much information.

"Neal? You okay?" It was Peter's voice, laced with concern.

Neal opened his eyes, finding Peter pulling the chair closer to the bed, but not sitting down. He graced Peter with a tired smile, his uninjured hand coming up to run through his hair. "Just tired. Weird dreams."

Peter sat slowly, taking in Neal's appearance. The kid looked better than he had a few days ago, but in reality that wasn't saying much. "Okay, well you know you can speak to me..." he cleared his throat slightly before adding, "About anything, Neal"

Neal glanced at Peter without making eye contact. "I'm good Peter." he tried, then laughed at the absurdity of the comment.

"Yeah, even you can't pull that off yet." Peter replied, leaning forward, clasping his hands together and resting his elbows on his knees. "I am a pretty good listener."

Neal gave him a sideways glance, trying to gauge the question. He was still to tired, his ability to read people severely effected. "Peter..." there was a request in the name, a '_Not now, I can't deal with all of this'_ that he couldn't put into words.

Peter sat back, a small sigh giving away his disappointment. He wanted to help Neal, but only on his terms- at least for now. "Okay, we're good kid."

Neal nodded slightly, already too tired to say awake much longer. "Thanks Peter." the words were genuine.

Peter smiled, watching as Neal's eyes lost their battle to stay awake and he drifted off to sleep again. He wondered how long he should wait before telling Neal that he had seen the video tape- that he knew what Neal had endured, and that he had only acted to escape when Elizabeth's life was threatened. He wanted Neal to know that he wasn't alone in all of this, that he had a support network there for him.

Peter also had to admit that he wanted answers that only Neal could provide. Mozzie had dug up more information on Martin Finch in five hours then the FBI had in four days. Finch was allegedly, an enforcer for the Russian mafia, and until very recently, had actually been out of the country. Mozzie had provided a list of known associates which Diana was using to discreetly investigate the man. No one wanted to give away their source, and if this guy was a hit-man for Russian organized crime, Peter wanted to make sure he understood Neal's connection to it before he went public with the investigation.

Peter sighed, rubbing at his tired eyes. Until today, he would not have assumed that the conman had any connection to the Russian mafia. But the whispered words while asleep, along with the involvement of a known enforcer removed most doubt. At some point Neal and Peter would have to talk. If Peter was going to protect the young man, he needed to know what he was fighting.

* * *

Huh...sister. And he knows Russian...weird. Until the next chapter.

~km

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	9. Chapter 9

First let me apologise for the delay in updating. I have had a busy life the past few weeks, and there just didn't seem to be a moment to sit and get this done. I have serious guilt about this :)

It's a short update. I hope you enjoy. Thank you all for your positive reviews and feedback!

* * *

Seven month into his four year prison term, Neal Caffrey had gotten sick. Not just a head cold, or the flu, but that kind of sick that makes you weak for a month and wish that you could just sleep forever. His bones had ached, his chest and sides were sore from coughing, and there was a solid three days where he could barely keep down _water, _much less anything solid. That he reflected, was a picnic compared to how he felt right now.

He stood next to the hospital bed that he had spent more than a week lying in, staring at the clothing that Peter had laid out for him. The motivation to leave the hospital was the only thing that had him even attempting to get dressed at the moment. That, and the fact that Peter would be back soon, and Neal really didn't want his friend to see him in his backless hospital gown- again.

Assessing the the outfit that had been picked for him, it was obvious that Elizabeth, not Peter, had raided his closet. It was more casual than he was used to wearing, but it did couple together a pair of dark jeans with a black polo and Italian leather loafers It took him longer than it should, but he managed to get into the outfit without assistance by the time Perter returned.

"Your chariot-" Peter said, indicating the wheelchair manned by a nurse that came in behind him.

Neal gave the wheelchair a look of disdain. "Really? My legs are fine."

"Hospital policy." The nurse informed him with no room for argument.

Peter shrugged his shoulders, seeming to agree with Neal on this one, but seeing no option of getting around it. Neal couldn't help but feel it was one last dignity that he had to give up in the last two weeks, but if he was being honest, he wasn't sure he would have managed to walk out under his own power anyway. Getting dressed had used up more resources than he had built up, and as he sank into the chair he had to admit that perhaps the wheelchair wasn't such a bad option after all.

* * *

Peter was a man of few words. He had never felt a need to engage in idle chit-chat, and was comfortable with silence. In a city surrounded by noise, quiet was a luxury.

Glancing over at Neal sitting in the passage seat though reminded him of the fact that sometimes conversation was necessary. Sometimes the black hole of avoidance needed to be addressed. Peter just wasn't sure what he wanted, or needed to say.

Neal was at an angle that looked uncomfortable, his head resting against the cool window and his injured arm tucked protectively against his stomach. The dark circles under his eyes just accentuated the fact that he was too pale, and the weight that he had lost made his already trim figure seem too thin. The doctor had went over the details of Neal's discharge with Peter, and the primary advisement was that Neal's recovery was going to take time. His body was mending, but he would be easily exhausted, and he would still have some discomfort from his injuries for a while. It was also noted that Neal had started to refuse his pain medication, telling the staff it was not necessary. She told Peter that the extent of his injuries made that claim seem unlikely.

Sitting at a red light, Peter could actually take a moment to look at Neal, and it seemed to him that the younger man was barely holding it together. "Neal, your pain medication is right here, and I have a bottle of water..." he said quietly, his free hand already pulling the prescription bottle out of the white pharmacy bag.

Neal blinked his eyes, breathing in slowly to clear his head. He had heard Peter speak, but had been so focused internally that he had not registered the words. Peter was holding a small bottle, a slight wave of the hand to indicate that Neal should take it.

Neal shook his head slightly. "I don't need those Peter. I'm-"

"Don't say 'fine' Neal." Peter interrupted. "Take the pills, feel better. There is no reason not too." his tone was gentle, trying to be persuasive.

Neal starred at the bottle, unwilling to take it from Peter's hand. A horn honked behind them indicated the light had changed, and Peter put the bottle down to drive once more. Neal didn't want to tell him that yes, he wanted to take them. That the dull throb of his wrist tangled in his stomach with the sharp burn of his gunshot wound to cause a continued wave of nausea. He wanted to escape the ache his muscles still felt from sitting in one position for so long, and the pressure behind his eyes that made his head feel like it was going to explode. But the medicine took away his control, of both his body and his mind, and he needed to get that back. He felt too open, too exposed, and it frightened him to feel so vulnerable.

Peter returned the bottle reluctantly back to the bag, his concern etched in his features. "Okay, Neal, you're an adult, so you can make this decision. But promise me that you will reconsider if it gets too bad...okay?"

Neal closed his eyes again, not wanting Peter to see them so unguarded. "Yeah Peter, I can do that." he answered truthfully. Although he needed that semblance of his former self back, the thought of making the pain stop for at least a little while was becoming very inviting.

When they arrived at the house, Peter double parked in front, unable to find a space suitably close, and was around the car opening the passenger door before Neal had unlatched his seat belt.

"How very chivalrous of you." Neal commented, gingerly exiting the car, trying to act casual. The moment was ended when his hand shot out for support as a wave a dizziness swept over him.

Peter reached out a steadying arm, and Neal could feel his unspoken question. "I'm okay...just stood up too fast." He looked Peter in the eyes, wanting to reassure as best as possible.

Peter assessed him for a moment, and seeming to believe Neal, gave a quick nod. "Okay...can you walk inside?"

Neal glanced past him, and wondered what other options he had. He could actually see Peter trying to carry him, or bringing him back to the hospital. Neither were appealing. In answer to Peter's question he started to walk towards the house, Peter close behind. Neal managed the short distance without much trouble, but was happy to sit on the couch when they got inside.

"I'm going to park the car." Peter told him, heading back to the door. "Elle is not home yet, but I'll be right back."

Neal acknowledged Peter's statement with a small grunt, resting his head on the back of the couch. The pressure in his head along with the deep ache of his muscles was becoming increasing difficult to ignore.

Peter stayed in the doorway a moment, wondering if the hospital let their patient leave before he was ready. But he trusted Neal when he told him he would take the pain medication if it was necessary. He hoped that also meant that Neal would tell him if he felt that something was truly wrong.

Neal could feel Peter watching him, and was just about to offer another 'I'm okay Peter, park the car' when he heard the door close. He sighed, trying to will his muscles to relax and sleep to take him, but his body was not cooperating. He started slightly when he felt something cool and damp touching his hand, opening his eyes quickly to see Satchmo staring at him.

"Hey Satch." he greeted the dog, getting a tail wag in response. "Sorry buddy, no walks from me today. Not feeling so great."

Satchmo seemed to evaluate what Neal said, tilting his head slightly. Then he climbed up carefully on the couch, resting his head on Neal's knee. Neal's hand instinctively rested on the dogs head, feeling a surge of calmness in the dogs presence. "You're a good boy..." Neal told him quietly, his hand running through Satchmo's soft fur.

When Peter came in a few minutes later, he found his dog up on the couch and his charge sleeping soundly. Satchmo turned liquid brown eyes to Peter, but did not make a move to disturb Neal.

"Good job Satch," Peter praised warmly. "Keep an eye on our boy."

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this little update. Who doesn't love a little puppy comfort? This is a transition chapter for me...not what I intended, but it was the bridge I needed to get to the rest of the story I want to tell. Thank you all for staying with me!

~km


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10. Wow. I had imagined this as maybe five chapters, but there is so much story in my head that it seems this just keeps getting longer and longer. I hope you don't mind, and thank you for sticking around.

As always, thank you so much for the reviews, alerts and positive feedback. It really means a lot! I hope you all enjoy this latest installment.

* * *

Neal awoke hours later, the sound of kitchen chores and television news in the background. He felt a slight weight on his leg and picked his head up to see Satchmo still laying with him on the couch. "Thanks buddy." he whispered, giving the dog a slight squeeze.

Elizabeth came into view as she set plates on the dinning room table. She glanced over at the couch and was pleasantly surprised to see Neal awake. "Hey there, how are you feeling?"

Neal took a moment to self evaluate before answering. "Sore." he replied honestly. "But better. They really don't let you sleep much in the hospital."

Elizabeth gave him a sympathetic look. "You up for some dinner? It's light; baked chicken and rice..."

Neal nodded, realizing that he was hungry as soon as she mentioned food. "Yeah, that sounds great. I'm just going to wash up."

Satchmo seemed to realize this was his cue, getting down off the couch and heading towards the kitchen. Elizabeth gave him a pat as he walked by, thinking he deserved a special treat in his food dish that night. "Dinner will be on the table in about ten minutes." she told Neal as she headed back into the kitchen.

Neal waited for her to be out of view before he got up from the couch, standing slowly to ward off any threat of dizziness. Going into the bathroom he kept his head down to avoid seeing his reflection in the mirror. He had looked two days prior in the hospital, and had been assured by the plastic surgeon that the scars would be almost non existent once healed. He didn't tell the doctor that the look of the healing wounds was nothing compared to how they had felt when they were inflicted.

He shook his head slightly, trying to clear away those dark thoughts. Leaning against the vanity, he closed his eyes and focused on breathing. Neal was well practiced in the art of denial, not in dealing. He had become an expert at hiding his emotions behind a well used mask of self-assured calmness, tucking his fears and insecurities into a tiny ball and hiding them carefully away. There was nothing to gain in letting his past control his present, be it eight days or eight years ago.

* * *

Elizabeth loved to experiment with food. Peter often found himself delving into a flaky crust only to find some truly unfortunate substance his wife assured was edible hiding within. Her profession required a certain amount of the exotic to please her more high end clients, and Peter was often the test subject. One of the advantages of working with Neal was that the conman's love of the extravagant made him a more suitable subject to evaluate her creations.

This meal however was simple and perfect. For some reason, Elizabeth's chicken and rice was one of the best dishes she made. The chicken was never too dry, the rice a perfect complement, a little gravy holding it all together. It was so good that Neal had admitted once that it was one of his favorites as well. Which is probably why Elizabeth made it tonight, Peter theorized.

Peter was on his second helping when he noticed that Neal had barely touched his plate. Well, that was not actually true- he had made an effort to construct some sort of gravy damn out of chicken and rice, but it didn't look like any had been used for its original intended purpose.

Elizabeth had noticed as well, and she shared a concerned look with her husband. She knew that Peter was waiting for the right moment to talk to Neal, and although she wasn't sure _this_ was that moment, she suspected that there never would be a good time to discuss what had happened to their friend.

Elizabeth stood up from the table, the movement drawing Neal's eyes away from his food construction. He gave her an apologetic smile, realizing that the other two had finished their meals and he had not touched his own. "I'm sorry, it was really-"

She placed her hand on his arm, her return smile warm with understanding. "Don't worry about it Neal. Left overs are good." She picked up the serving dish and her own plate, then stopped to give her husband a quick kiss on the cheek before she brought them to the kitchen.

Peter trusted his wife's judgment, sometimes more than his own, and knew this was her telling him to talk to Neal now. As a senior agent in the FBI, he had to go through a training seminar once a year to teach him how to address issues that may arise when traumatic events occur to his team. He had only had to use that training once, after a hostage negotiation went horribly wrong, but that situation was completely different. That was dealing with a fellow FBI agent, trained to deal with the unexpected, not a civilian consultant. Not a friend who was hurting from more than just the physical injuries he sustained, and Peter was worried that an eight hour seminar once a year was just not enough.

But Elizabeth's words from earlier in the evening, as they watched Neal sleep on the couch with Satchmo laying next to him protectively were what he was relying on now.

"_Elle, I don't know if I can do this. Even if there wasn't something else, something he is keeping from me- I don't know if I am qualified to be that person."_

"_Peter, you are better at this than you realize." she had told him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "And you are his friend- he trusts you, and all you have to do is let him know that you want to help. The rest will fall into place."_

Peter cleared his throat, not sure what he wanted to say, but knowing that he had to start now. "Neal, we have to talk."

Neal looked at him, then glanced away, not making eye contact as he nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Peter we do." he replied, a slight tremor in his voice that he could not control.

Peter was surprised by the younger man's willingness, and leaned forward to put his hand on Neal's lower arm. "Hey, Neal, its okay. Whatever is going on in that head of yours, we can deal with it."

Neal turned to look at Peter, his blue eyes harboring more emotion than Peter was used to seeing in them. "Peter, I killed three men." the words were quiet, Peter having to strain to hear them.

Peter sat back, his hands coming to run through his short hair. "Neal, I know. I saw the tape." he felt like it was a confession, like admitting that he had witnessed Neal's abuse was a secret he was not supposed to share.

"Tape? It was recording..." Neal replied, more of a statement than a question. "I didn't know. I thought it was some kind of live feed so they could watch me." What little color he had drained from his face as the information sank in. "Peter, I can't go back- not for this-" Neal said after a moment, panic creeping its way into his words.

Peter stared at him a moment, at a loss. Where did Neal think he would be going back to? Not the warehouse...

Prison. Neal thought he would be sent to prison for killing his captors. The thought made Peter feel ill. "God, Neal, no. You are not in trouble for what happened to you. It was self defense. They would have killed you." he took a breath before adding, "and Elizabeth."

Neal blinked at Peter's words, unsure of how to respond. How could he regain his control when there was documentation of him loosing it recorded for all to see? How could he get his life back when it was always only a carefully crafted facade?

"I saw what they did to you Neal, and it's going to take some time for you to deal with it. I know they tried to use Elizabeth against you, and your actions saved her life." Peter's words were shaky, the fear for his wife still fresh in his memory. He took a breath, getting his emotions back under control before continuing. "But Neal, I need to know something. I need to know what your connection is to Martin Finch and the Russian mafia."

Neal closed his eyes, the question overwhelming him. The name brought everything Neal was desperately trying to repress surging to the surface. Martin Finch had stolen Neal's life and had paid for the offense with his own. How could Peter know this man's name? Long forgotten fears made Neal's heart race as if he had been running, his breathing far too rapid. He felt like he was trapped, like there wasn't enough air to breath. The sudden need to be moving, to verify that he was not tied to the wooden chair he sat in made him get up and move.

"Peter, I can't- I don't know how to handle this-" Neal's was shaking, his movements unsteady. The feeling of being trapped was overwhelming, more so than when he actually had been.

Peter stood up, carefully stopping Neal's pacing with a hand on each shoulder. Neal was barely contained panic, and Peter was sure the recovering man could not take this level of stress. "Neal. Listen to me. I need you to calm down." Peter's voice was gentle, encouraging. "Slow breaths Neal, come on buddy, you can do it..." he led Neal over to the couch, guiding him to sit down.

"Peter, you don't understand. How could you know..." Neal didn't know how to say the words, how to trust them in someone else's hands. How do you explain to your friend that the three men in the warehouse were not the only people to have died at you hands? How do you tell that to your friend when that person was also an agent of the FBI?

Peter sat on the table across from Neal, his tone quiet. "Then explain it to me Neal. I need to know what this threat is. I need to know why they know you. I need to know if they are going to come after you again." he hesitated a moment before playing his last card. "I need to know if these people are still a danger to Elle."

Neal looked down, unable to make eye contact. That was all he needed. Elizabeth had shown him more kindness and understanding then anyone had in a very long time. He knew that she was the reason Peter trusted him as much as he did now. But how could he confess all his sins to Peter, knowing what the consequences would have to be?

"Are you asking me this as Special Agent Peter Burke?" he took in a steadying breath, then let it out slowly. "Or as my friend?"

Peter leaned down just enough to catch Neal's eye. "As your friend, Neal." he replied, the meaning in his answer clear. There would not be any repercussions from anything Neal told him tonight.

Neal blinked, surprised by the answer. "You may regret this deal later."

"I haven't so far." Peter responded. "We can deal with this. But you have to trust me."

Neal nodded in agreement, leaning back on the couch. "How do I do this? I don't normally share-"

Peter smirked at the statement. "Yeah, no kidding."

Neal smiled in return, feeling strangely comforted by the sarcastic remark. "So what do you want to know? Where do you want me to start?"

Peter thought it over a moment. There were so many questions about Neal Caffrey that he wanted answers to. He wasn't sure how long Neal's walls would be down, how much Neal would be willing or able to provide before the door would close.

"Why do you know how to speak Russian?" The question came out unexpectedly, and as soon as it was voiced, Peter was sure it was the perfect one.

Neal's eye's widened in surprise, curious as to how Peter would know such a thing. Peter shrugged his shoulder. "You talk in your sleep."

"Oh." Neal replied, sighing. He glanced away, realizing that if he answered this question, there was no going back. He cleared his throat, the sudden emotion he felt at thinking of his childhood making him uneasy. "I can speak Russian because I was born just outside of Saint Petersburg, Russia."

* * *

There, it has been done. In my world, Neal was born in Russia. Since we have so little information about Neal's past, I have taken some liberties.

I have a much harder time writing dialog then straight story, I hope it doesn't show too much. Thank you for reading, more about Neal and his childhood in the next chapter.

~km


	11. Chapter 11

To all you wonderful, patient readers who have reviewed and follow this story, all I can do is apologize for the crazy delay in posting an update.

* * *

As a child, he remembered a house full of music and love. His mother would dance through their home, the sounds of the classic composers giving her movement a soundtrack, and he loved nothing more than when she would scoop him up into her embrace as she twirled and spun, humming along with the music under her breath. Anna would sit in the living room, the window of that room the only one that provided the natural sunlight her artist eye so desperately craved.

At times he would sit with Anna, watching as she carefully put paint to canvas, the colors and lines becoming things of beauty at her command. He adored his sister, and the first time she guided his much smaller hand in creating a simple stroke of color across the plain white he knew this was his calling. The feel of the brush was natural, and even at such a young age, he knew this was what he wanted to do.

It is these memories that he thinks of first, and he doesn't know how to share them with the man staring at him now. His right hand, not burdened by the bandages like that of his left arm and wrist is shaking as it comes up to his eyes, wiping away a tear that he did not mean to shed.

Peter stood up, needing a moment to comprehend. He ran through his thoughts, trying to put this new piece of information into context. Neal jumped slightly at Peter's sudden movement, feeling embarrassed for doing so. He had lost so much of himself in the past week, and he didn't think there was much left to spare.

"Hey, Neal, it's okay..." Peter said in a low tone, the look on the younger man's face causing him concern. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Although the trained agent in him wanted the information that Neal so closely guarded, the friend in him was having reservations seeing how difficult this simple admission was.

Neal glanced sideways, unwilling to make eye contact. His emotions were so close to the surface, the memories that he never allowed himself to reflect on now overwhelming him. It was too much for him to sort, the past feeling like an enemy that needed to be destroyed, not something to be reflected on, or even worse, shared. The only consolation Neal had at this moment was that the only person he truly trusted was the one to bear witness to the opening of the floodgate.

Peter was not sure how to handle this Neal that sat before him. He knew how to deal with the arrogant, shelf assured conman, and he knew how to deal with the determined to solve a problem no matter the cost Neal, but this person falling apart in front of him was neither of those. He thought for a moment to get Elisabeth, his wife having a way with people that he did not, but he didn't. Not because he thought Neal would mind, or Elisabeth would refuse, but because he was afraid to leave Neal, even for a moment. Instead he resumed his seat on the solid oak coffee table across from Neal, leaning forward slightly to rest elbows on knees and waited.

"My mother was beautiful." Neal stated quietly, his eyes focused on something Peter could not see. "She had been a dancer, a ballerina, before she had my sister." he looked at Peter then, wanting to gauge his reaction.

Peter was caught off guard more by the look in Neal's eyes than the actual statement. It was the same haunted look that ghosted his face when he thought no one was watching, but the depth made Peter wonder how the younger man had kept it so concealed normally. It seemed that Neal was a better conman than the agent had ever realized.

"A sister..." Peter repeated, once again rearranging his internal Neal Caffrey file. "What was her name?"

The question was so normal it hurt, and Neal closed his eyes in an attempt to hold back the new tears that were forming. "Her name was Anna...she was the person who taught me how to paint."

Peter noted the past tense in both references to Neal's mother and sister, confirmation of what he already suspected This level of emotion could only come from great loss.

"Who were you then?" Peter asked, hoping that he was not pushing his luck with the question.

Neal smiled slightly, opening his eyes to really look at Peter. "I was Nikolai, the younger brother of Anna, the son of Nadya and Dmitry." he took in a slow breath, then released it, feeling the tension like a wild animal waiting to strike.

The variation of a theme, Peter's training noticed. He had always suspected that Neal's real name was a variation of Nick given the number of times he used it as an alias, especially early in his 'career'. He also knew that no matter what, he would never use this information to incriminate his friend.

Neal breathed in deep again, needing to verify that the feeling of drowning was anxiety, not reality. Peter leaned forward, slowly as to not cause the younger man to startle again, and patted his knee offering silent encouragement to continue.

"My mother was kind, intelligent and scared all the time." Neal said softly. "I didn't realize it then, not until I was older, but we were always in danger. My father was a sad, brave man, a member of the secret police. He would come home a shadow, and Anna would just sit with him, returning the light to his eyes every time."

"We left when I was seven, almost eight. I didn't understand what was happening, just that it was so important that we were quiet, so quiet." Neal continued so softly that Peter had to strain to hear him. "We took almost nothing, and waited for my father nearby in a car. I remember the fire in the area where we lived, and was scared that it might damage our home. Of course it was our home that was the one on fire."

Memories long forgotten came back to him now, and he felt the fear as strongly as that night. Sitting in the back seat of the modest car, Anna next to him with a protective arm around his shoulder. Only four years older than him, but wise beyond her young age, she understood the danger they were in. Their mother sat in the front, glancing back behind her often, verifying that they were not being followed as well as reassuring herself that her children were safely in the back.

Peter watched Neal quietly, waiting for the younger man to join him back in the present. He wasn't so sure they should continue this tonight, concerned that Neal's still recovering body couldn't handle the stress this was clearly causing.

"Neal...you with me?" Peter asked quietly a few moment later, his tone gentle. Neal blinked rapidly several times, the struggle to shake off the past more difficult than it normally would have been. "If you're not up to this Neal, we can pick this up later." Peter offered, his concern for his friend outweighing his need to know.

"We drove for hours, long into the night." Neal continued on, seeming to not hear Peter's offer. "I fell asleep still not aware of what was going on, and woke up to Anna shaking me frantically. We had stopped in the middle of a road, the snow falling so hard it was impossible to see much beyond the front of the car. But I knew there was something down the road because the area was glowing with the other car's headlights. Anna was scared, and that made me scared too. My father was gripping the steering wheel so tight I was sure it was going to break."

Neal's eyes were closed, the memories overwhelming him now. He could feel the cold, his sister's hand gripping his own. His mother was crying quietly, her eyes wide as she looked at her husband.

_"What shall we do Dmitry? Will they believe us that we are on a midnight drive to my sister? With our home burned to ashes? What will they do to you? To the children?" Nadya whispered, glancing back at her son and daughter._

_Dmitry stared ahead, anger and sadness fighting for dominance in his features. "They must have been watching me. How foolish I was to attempt this." he turned slowly, his hand coming up to caress his wife's cheek. "I am so sorry beloved. I have failed you."_

_Nadya leaned into his caress, closing her eyes against the lights that doomed them. "How far away are they Dmitry? Are we even close?"_

_"If it was a straight line through the woods, it would be less than a mile. The rendezvous is just this side of the boarder. The area is difficult to travel, which is why it was chosen. Not many people would attempt this path, especially in this weather." he looked at his wife, determination in his eyes now. "With this snow, it would cover your tracks almost instantly. Perhaps you could make it, with the children. I will provide the distraction, you will run-"_

_Nadya sobbed, shaking her head. "No, Dmitry, that won't work. I am not strong enough to make that journey, and I wouldn't know where to go. But you, you will do this."_

_Dmitry pulled back, fear winning over all else. "No, Nadya, no! I will not allow you to do this!"_

_Nadya leaned towards her husband, staring intently into his eyes. "Yes, you will. You will do this to save our children. Their only hope is with you."_

_Nadya reached towards the back seat to her children. Anna, comprehending her parent's conversation was crying now, but she leaned forward to embrace her mother, pulling Nikolai with her. Nadya put her arms around both of them, kissing each one on the cheek._

_"Anna, my brave daughter, you listen to your father. Take care of your brother. Teach him how to dance and paint." She cradled her son's face in her hands, trying to infuse a lifetime worth of love into this moment. "Nikolai, you must remember that I love you more than I can even express. You listen to your sister, and look out for her. You be brave and strong."_

_Nikolai nodded, willing to agree to anything to make his mother stop crying. She reluctantly let them go, leaning towards her husband once more to kiss him, then pulled back, Dmitry's gun now in her smaller hand._

_"Anna, hold onto your brother. When the car stops again, get out on your side and run, straight into the woods. Do not stop. I will catch up to you." Dmitry instructed, putting the car into drive once more. With a final glance at his wife, he accelerated the car for a moment, turning the lights off at the same time as he cut the wheel hard to the left. As soon as the car stopped, Nadya opened her door and stepped out._

_Anna stared at her mother, reality freezing her in place. Dmitry opened his door, getting out as well but in a crouch, and opened the back door. The lights from ahead had started to move towards them, but slowly as if they were sneaking up on their prey._

_"Anna go!" Nadya cried, startling her daughter into action. Anna grabbed her brother's hand and pulled him with her out of the car. Without looking back, she started to run, Nikolai being half- dragged behind her. She did not stop, not even when she heard the gunfire._

_When she couldn't run any further, and only when she couldn't see the lights from the road, did she stop for a moment, clutching her crying brother close to her chest. The snow was fierce, even in the woods, and she realized that although that would help protect her from those from the road, it would also make it impossible for her father to find her as well._

_Then she heard it, the sound of heavy breathing and careful steps. She hid behind a tree, a hand pressed to her younger brothers mouth to enure that he didn't make a sound. Nikolai was beyond frightened, and would obey every command she gave._

_He walked past them, their hiding spot so well concealed by the snow, afraid to call out their names, when he heard his daughters small cry of recognition. She ran to him, her brother still tightly in her embrace, and he hugged them both as he sobbed. He took just a moment to embrace them, before taking Anna's hand and leading them away._

* * *

__Thank you so much for reading this latest chapter. I have had this chapter written and on my computer for a long time, and for so many reasons was just not able to get to the right place and the right time to post. But like all things we enjoy doing, sometime we need to make the effort to get back into the groove.

I know this back story is completely different than what the wonderful creators of the show have given us, but that is the joy of fanfiction. I hope you have enjoyed, and please feel free to review.

More to come, and more timely than prior history would imply.

~km 2013


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